


Take Me Back To The Start

by ponderinfrustration



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Interstitial, Missing Scene, Spoilers for His Last Vow, frustrated ponderings at bedsides, suggested johnlock - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2014-09-02
Packaged: 2018-02-15 22:31:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2245770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponderinfrustration/pseuds/ponderinfrustration
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn't speak, doesn't release any of the words building like a knot inside his chest, the tenderness and longing and, yes, love, of one sort or another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Me Back To The Start

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Coldplay's 'The Scientist'

The room smells strongly of antiseptic, everything feeling sterilized, and yet Sherlock's curls are a contrast, smelling of the expensive shampoo John remembers him using in the days Before. (How they do is a mystery he doesn't want to solve, because the smell is a comfort, reminding him of much better tines than these.) Before blood on the pavement and a lifeless corpse-that-wasn't-a-corpse and a wife all got in the way. Now in the quiet of this hospital room, John can almost convince himself that it's Before.

(Only almost, though. He remembers those two years too well, and knows that Sherlock does too and they'll always stand in the way, alongside the wife who was a façade.)

John forces himself not to think of her, of the lies she told and the shots she fired, and the way that she's brought them here now. Instead he focuses on Sherlock, on the paleness of his face and the shadows under his eyes and the machinery forcing air into his lungs, helping to keep him alive. His hand is cold, but John warms it with his own, resting his head beside Sherlock's. (And he often dreamed of doing that Before, of having Sherlock beside him, but it was never like this and he wonders if he'd only gotten the courage up if anything would be different now. Or if those two years would still have intervened, would have left them here anyway. Any doubts regarding Sherlock were dispelled at the wedding, though he's only seeing it now.)

He doesn't speak, doesn't release any of the words building like a knot inside his chest, the tenderness and longing and, yes, love, of one sort or another. In this moment they don't matter and Sherlock needs to keep his heart beating. He'd scoff at sentiment anyway. (Or would he? He's so changed now, softer than he ever was Before and sometimes there’s an odd fragility lurking in his eyes and why didn't he see any of these things before marrying an assassin who'd shoot his best friend?)

He sighs, the breath stirring Sherlock's curls and maintains his silence. There'll be time enough again for sentimental words. (Maybe.)


End file.
